We have been properly resident in Cornwall for almost a week and, as I lie here in bed, knackered, looking out at the beautiful green of the yew tree, I’d say it hasn’t even begun to sink in yet.
We’ve done all the admin stuff: new doctor, dentist, vet, set up direct debits for the bills, changed the insurance, driving licenses; all that boring stuff. We’ve unpacked about a third of our boxes, put another third in storage and the rest lie around unopened while F battles valiantly to install a temporary kitchen in the tiny damp old kitchen at the back of the house. I’ve cleaned the bathroom as best I can, and put towels in the cupboard next to the boiler. We have a bed in our bedroom and a sofa in our living room. There is internet, which works, and there are lights, which mostly work. There is water from the taps most of the time, and usually it isn’t orange. The dogs have stopped following us around everywhere constantly and Monty has returned to sleeping downstairs on his own at night. Some of the gaps between the windows and the walls have been covered or filled in (I am trying to ignore the rest). Mould has been sprayed and wiped off (it is August and warm for now, but I know it will be back come September). I’ve inserted a poker up the chimney and cleaned up the metric tonne of old soot that cascaded out onto the grate. Some ivy has been peeled off of some walls. Steve the valiant arborist has concluded his survey and told us how much we need to spend just on the emergency tree surgery (ouch). The drains have been found, as has the water stop tap (it took another valiant man several hours and a metal detector to locate it). I have bought an electric blanket and found the winter duvet. Several neighbours have been round to say hello and give us vegetables. We’ve had fish and chips once, and pasties twice. I haven’t meditated once, or done any yoga, or remembered to take my vitamins (but I have watered the plants). I’ve sat in what will be the vegetable garden, consulted my heroes Dan Pearson and Charles Dowding and tried to plan where I will put the veg beds and how on earth I’ll get water to the veg. I’ve showered fewer times than the number of days we’ve been here (I tell myself the air is purifying on its own) and mostly just peed outside because it’s too time consuming to go into the house and upstairs once you’re out in the garden. F has made buildings secure, assembled furniture, planned and part-assembled the kitchen, wired in the lights, lit a lot of incense and been to Screwfix three times so far. He also found Malkin, our neighbour’s missing cat, who had taken refuge (probably from the dogs) inside the pottery. I’ve sprayed SBK on the Japanese knotweed and prayed it will reduce its vigour next year. I have learned a huge amount about bracken but I still have no idea what to do about it. We’ve walked the dogs on the cliffs in both directions, avoiding the cows and managing not to slide down the cliffside. Yesterday I met a friend of ours on the walk and we took a convivial turn out on the cliffs above Bossiney Cove. We sat in the fading evening sun and chatted and it made me feel more at home than I ever managed to feel in 18 months of living on the edge of Bath. We’ve eaten most of our meals outside and cooked all of them on a two-ring camping stove. I’ve started to understand just how vigorous and determined plants are in this part of the world, and have realised that this will be our saving grace and our constant burden at the same time. We’ve put some house plants in the bedroom and hung a makeshift curtain. I’ve tried not to think about how cold and damp it will be in winter. I’ve tried.
We’ve done all of this and more, just in six days, and all while I’ve been pretty unwell (all the stress of the move has given me a bout of viral fatigue and sore throat that feels quite like the glandular fever I had when I was seventeen). It has been the best six days I’ve had in years. This morning, F was measuring up the kitchen and I was clutching my cup of tea outside in the scorching sun and nursing a headache which would ordinarily have me growling and hiding under the duvet. The new Beyoncé album was blaring out and F came outside, scooped me up and we did some dancing and laughing, and I felt pathetic and happy at the same time. We’ve done so much, but we haven’t even started yet.
bookbusbird 